


The Due Process of Law

by plinys



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you want to know what happened, imagine the story of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, only bloodier</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Due Process of Law

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaisleyHearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyHearts/gifts).



> We fic swapped again, because fic swapping is fun. Also I should be writing an essay, I am not writing that essay. (This is not beta'd because I should be writing my essay, oops)

Whoever perpetuated the idea that going to law school and becoming a lawyer would be a rewarding life choice, had clearly never spent any time in court.

 Or they had a very sick sense of what exactly _rewarding_ meant.

It did not mean dealing with the case Connor had just closed, a case which had only just _barely_ swung in his favor; even though on the off chance Connor’s client had committed the crime he was accused of the world should’ve thanked him for committing a public service.

But he wasn’t allowed to express his personal opinions.

Not in the courtroom at least, but in the comforts of his home things were a bit different.

“What if I quit my job and we become wandering carpet salesmen?”

“I’m not quitting my job to sell carpets with you,” Oliver’s voice carries from the living room, where the dim sounds of their television play in the background. There’s a click and the sounds stop, but they’re followed by the soft padding of Oliver’s feet against the carpet.

“Why are we becoming carpet salesmen, out of curiosity?”

“Because I’ve clearly missed out on a job opportunity which might have been mildly more enjoyable than this.”

That gets a chuckle out of Oliver, “doubt it.”

“You’d be surprised,” Connor assures him.

Suddenly there are hands pressing down against his shoulders, relaxing in a way Connor hadn’t even quite realized that he needed. The sound he makes in response is almost sexual.

Almost, because Oliver’s massages are nearly as good as sex.

And coming from Connor, that’s saying something.

“Long day at court,” Oliver asks, like he doesn’t already know, like Connor hadn’t been texting him the whole day complaining about his awful client and how he was really regretting that whole _having gone to law school thing_.

Still, he’s thankful for the opening, he had been in dire need of it.

“If you want to know what happened, imagine the story of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, only bloodier.”

“Somebody’s being dramatic,” Oliver points out.

“I’m one hundred percent serious, I only read that book once, but this was straight up taken from those pages.”

Oliver rolls his eyes, before asking “was there a goat?”

Wait, what?

“Why would there be a goat?”

“In the movie,” Oliver explains, chuckling slightly, “there was a goat, Esmerelda’s animal sidekick.”

Connor laughs at that, because now he knows Oliver’s just teasing him, “no, just a religious fanatic who believes the best way to deal with those he can’t convert is to lock them in a church and _set them on fire_.”

He means those last words to come off casually, like he doesn’t know the exact smell of burning flesh or just how hot a body has to be for nothing to remain behind.

Connor continues on before he can dwell on the memory, “if my client did stab the asshole, then really Oliver, he deserved it.”

“Did she do it?”

“You know I can’t say,” Connor says, which practically gives it all away.

“Which is why you’re so tense,” Oliver says, kneading his fingers as he says those words, the pressure doing wonders for the ache he’d been carrying there for far too long.

“I’m always tense,” Connor protests, though it’s a mild half-hearted one, “though I know a way to be _less_ tense.”

“No,” Oliver says, his hands squeezing just a bit tighter than usual.

He can easily imagine the expression on the other man’s face, the way the tips of his ears would be turning just slightly red. Even after all this time together, he still had a way of becoming flustered when Connor used the slightest hint of his persuasion skills.

It really was a wonder they ever left the bedroom.

And if Connor had his say in things, they never really would.

“No,” he echoes Oliver’s word, trying to sound more curious than disappointed.

“No,” Oliver stubbornly repeats, “we have dinner tonight with your sister, remember?”

And yes, not that Oliver mentioned it he remembered. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to remember. What he actually wanted at that moment was to be so far gone that thinking was not an option, and the only words he had wanted to be able to vocalize were _“fuck”_ and _“harder”_ and maybe some broken syllables that could pass for Oliver’s name.

“You said it was very important and that we couldn’t miss it,” Oliver continues, unaware of Connor’s train of thoughts, “and as much as I wouldn’t mind a night in-“

“Fuck my sister.”

“Really now Connor, I knew you were a Lannister fan but-“

He tilts his head backwards to fix Oliver a glare as he says, “shut up, you knew what I meant.”

“Did I now?”

Connor makes a vague noise of agreement, before he says, “you should kiss me.”

And Oliver obliges, because he’s not that cruel. His lips pressing against Connor’s for the barest of seconds, not nearly enough, and Oliver knows it. His little teasing smile is all that Connor’s left with a moment later, when Oliver pulls back.

“You’re the worst.”

“You still love me,” Oliver says, though the words hold the smallest note of hesitation, as if after all this time he could still doubt something as obvious as that.

Connor half wonders what he’s doing wrong, for that note of hesitation to still be there.

But that’s a conversation for another time, now is the time of reassurances, and possibly reassurance sex – so he turns around in his seat, bring his hands up to cradle Oliver’s head and tug him into a kiss that eclipses the one they’d had moments before. It’s a mix of passion and pleasure, that Connor has perfected over the year, one that belonged to Oliver.

“I more than love you,” he says, when he pulls back, his words a hint of something that had been said what felt like eons ago, in the kitchen of their first apartment (it has been Oliver’s apartment first, before it had become _theirs_ ).

His message isn’t missed, not by a long shot.

“Well, that’s good, because I more than love you too.”  

 

 

 


End file.
